The apartment complex on the hill.

6:00 a.m.
It's the wind chimes that hung from outside of Mrs. Ridgeways apartment window that pulled Mick McCormack from his restless sleep a good hour before his alarm had been set to the task. He stared at the pale grey ceiling of his apartment, rubbed at his sweat slick forehead and swallowed thickly. He'd had that dream again. He shivered. Blinking the last of sleep away, McCormack twisted to the side and reached over to the nightstand to pick up the bottle he had there to take a cool drink of water, trying to rid himself of the taste of copper and ash that his dream had left in his mouth.

Mick sat up, scratching at his head as he drew his knees up towards his chest, the sheets rustling harshly with the swift movement. Try as he might he just couldn't remember what the dream was about, he never could. Mick took another swig from the bottle and He swung his legs over the edge of his mattress to stand and move to look out his open window.

Warm wind blew into his face, and now, before the sweet gold Californian sun had rose high enough to even kiss the base of the Arcadian hill tops, and the deep blue sky was still expelling Nights purple black hue, the heat of the day could be felt. The small town of Arcadia was going to hit past the hundreds McComack thought idly, taking another gulp of water. He sighed, returned to the bottle to its place on the nightstand and went to take a shower, pausing in front of the bathroom mirror to take in his appearance.

Light Gray-blue eyes deeply set within his face, rimed dark around the edges with the blue marker of sleeplessness peered back at him from the reflection, swept, with mild scrutiny, the pale freckled skin, the thin angular ridges of his jaw and cheekbones, covered in gold stubble. He smiled at himself, his jaw giving a mild audible click at the motion.

Mick's features would have been sharp and serious had it not been for his constant smile; a jovial upturn of his lips that pulled adorably to the left due in part to a misaligned jaw that occasionally twinged painfully but nonetheless did not deter him from grinning merrily. He was a friendly guy, slow of reaction and slow to anger, His habits unchanging. And a year after the near apocalyptic forces that had come to Arcadia, Mick's quiet, dependable and predictable habits were something the citizens of Arcadia sorely wanted.

Despite the chaos that the revelation of trolls and goblins and who knows what else had caused with everyone else's lives, it had improved, rather than harmed, McCormack's life. An easy going hired hand whose greatest scholarly accomplishment was passing Strickler's AP History class with a C, Mick liked to work with his hands, he liked to build things, and he was good at it too. But Arcadia had very little need for handymen and work was hard to come by. That was of course, until the day of Eternal Night. When those black armored creatures burst forth from the darkest, bleakest, depths of the earth and tried to consume the entire city.

Mick McCormack shivered at the memory. He didn't really know how all those things were destroyed, only that they left Arcadia a mess, and with the whole town involved in a crazy hush up conspiracy it wasn't like they could hire outside help to clean up the ruin. Suddenly, everyone seemed to know who he was and what was best was that they were willing to pay for his help. Try as he might Mick couldn't feel sad over having a steady flow of income, regardless of the circumstances why. Having money, well, it was a nice change. He winked at himself, scratched at the base of his throat and turned towards the shower to wash up.

The boy with the glasses.

6:30 a.m.

Eli Pepperjack rested his head against the pane of his bedroom window, ignoring the slight pressure that the temple of his glasses caused the ridge of his ears and blinked tiredly out into the street. Next to him, in his rickety rocking chair, Steve Palchuk sat asleep, his blond head thrown back and his mouth wide and open letting out a ruckus snore. Eli sighed and allowed himself a small smile. The larger boy had fallen asleep roughly around 2 a.m. when he had grown bored with their spying for Aja and Krel.

The two Aliens were convinced that the two flower shop owners, Ed and Lora Brune, were bounty hunters from their planet, intent on taking them out for good. It didn't take much for Eli to be convinced, Steve however was more skeptical. And he said so every time Pepperjack pestered him at him about following up with the two royals. But, as was becoming his habit, Steve indulged him, and together they had spent the better part of the week following the shop keepers in the hopes of proving Aja and Krel right. Trying to capture them in their true forms, so far they had not been successful.

Eli yawned, his breath clouding the glass, and brushed his hair out of his face. His room was already starting get hot. He sighed and pulled his head from the window, frowning as his cheek stuck to the glass. Rubbing at his face, Eli removed his glasses and a nerve in his ear thrummed with relief as he stood and stretched. Below, downstairs, his mother, having heard him, began to come up.

In an instant Eli forgot to breathe and looked at the snoring blond in his rocking chair.

He grabbed the boy by his broad shoulders.

"Steve wake up!"

Palchuk's head twisted to the side and yawned straight into his face. The remnants of the vanilla wafers and hot chocolate that Eli had given him still lingered on his breath. Eli paused, shook his head and gently slapped Steve's cheek. "Whatsgoinon? Steve asked opening his eyes blearily.

"It's my mom."

Those brown eyes blinked at him uncomprehending.

"So?"

"She doesn't like you remember?"

"Oh."

"You need to go."

Steve smiled, a gentle upturn of his lips, "Five more minutes."

Behind him the sound of footsteps on the stairs paused. Had she heard Steve? She must be half way up the stairs by now. Eli turned, unclasped the hasp on the window and with strength he was still unused to possessing, shoved it open. He turned back again, grabbed Steve by his shirt and leaned forward.
"Go out the window, now!" He hissed.

Steve smirked and pushed him back, "I'm up… I'm up…"

He paused and licked his lips repeatedly, "I had the strangest dream though."

"Tell me later, just get out! Get out!"

"Yeah, yeah." Steve flicked his hands at him and shook his head.

Eli was now smacking his hand against Steve's back as the blonde rose from his rocking chair. The rocker whined in protest. "Jeez Eli can't you oil that thing?" Steve asked twisting around, leaning half way out the window, one leg still dangling within Eli's room. Eli glared at him and said nothing. From the staircase, his mother's footsteps started their ascent again and raking his hands through his dark hair in a panic, Eli stepped forward, planted the sole of his shoe against Steve's thigh and shoved the boy the rest of the way out.

Steve managed an indignant "Hey!" before hitting the low hanging roof below Eli's window with an audible thump. Flinching, he stuck his head out the window, in time to see Steve jogging off his mother's lawn. He seemed alright. Eli sighed in relief as Palchuk disappeared down the street. Seconds later Mick McCormack's old, dust covered, yellow, Volkswagen, rumbled down the road.

He threw himself into his chair as His door opened and his mother poked her dark head into his room.

"Eli?"

"Morning, Mom."

"What was that noise?" She asked, suspicious eyes glinting like flint behind the lenses of her glasses as she scanned the room.

He leaned back in the rocker, wincing as the wood growled and wheezed painfully by the movement.

"Just the rocking chair Mom."

The Doctor

7:00 a.m.

"I'm just not feeling too good Doc." Royce Perin looked up at her from tired, wary and red- shot eyes. "Feel sick."

Barbara nodded gazed over the top of her clipboard at the pale man and pulled the stethoscope from his chest. The echo of the sound of blood pumping through his heart, whooshing through the valves more rapidly than what she knew was normal, remained in her ears.

"and I keep having these dreams."

"What are they about?"

Perin sniffed and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't remember."

"When did these dreams start?" Barbara asked leaning back towards the sink and pulling a tissue from its box laying in the corner. She handed it to Perin, who took it gratefully.

"Thanks," Perin sniffed again, "Three weeks ago? McCormack and I were cleaning that mess town below the bridge, that Palchuk kid led us there."

"Trollmarket?" Barbara asked feeling a dark wave of dread wash over her, she shook it off. Lots of Arcadian citizens were still reeling from the events of last year. Nightmares were now common.

"Yeah," Perin sighed, "Mick left early to help your guy at the museum so I was there by myself." Royce grabbed his thick yellow and green plaid shirt from the bed he sat on and began to put it back on.

"Touch anything?"

"No." He sniffed again, buttoning up the shirt. The soft fabric rustled and twisted with the movement, dark green turning lime in the bright hospital lights. Her bright blue eyes swept over the sickly looking man critically and her gaze caught a small purple bruise that lay at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Where'd you get that?" Barbara asked messing with the rims of her glasses with one hand and pointing to the bruise with the other. Royce frowned. "Not sure…"

They stared at each other, Royce trying to remember how he got the bruise and Barbara waiting for him patiently.

"I don't remember." Dark brown eyes met hers with something almost like panic, before they calmed and went half lidded. "Mmm, my wife actually." He grinned sheepishly, but the smile did not reach his gaze. Barbara knew then that He wasn't being entirely truthful.

Choosing not to voice her suspicion, Barbara instead changed the subject, "while you were down there did you Inhale anything?"

"Just a whole bunch of dust," Royce rubbed at his eyes, the tissue crumpled tightly in his left hand.

"See anything there?" She asked scribbling down his answers on her notes.

"No."

Another silent pause.

"… I saw Dr. Harris first, he took blood tests." Perin said trying to be helpful, scratching at his neck, and offering her a week smile before moving to roll up his sleeves.

"Nurse Dan is bringing them." Barbara forced a smile, the muscles of her face refusing to move properly and she was certain it came off as a grimace. Almost as if he was summoned Dan stepped into the room. "Sorry," He smiled at Royce before leaning in towards Barbara. "Sorry." He repeated handing her the blood test results. "Mrs. Earnshaw escaped again."

Barbara nodded, and took the file. In the hallway, the wheels of Mrs. Earnshaw's wheelchair squealed in their haste to make another escape. Chuckling, Dr. Lake watched Nurse Dan jog out of the room with mild amusement and opened the file to read.

There, in Doctor Harris's rough scrawl Barbara could make out the diagnosis.

Pernicious Anemia.

The Town beneath the Bridge.

9:00 a.m.

Mick McCormack tried again to call Roy. He'd been down in this creep town all by himself cleaning for over an hour now. This time when he called, Royce Perin did not answer, but his wife did. Anne had answered in a soft and tired voice.

"Hey Anne, is Roy—"

"- Mick, Roy has gone to see Dr. Lake."

This did not surprise him as Roy had been complaining to anyone who'd listen about feeling crummy ever since their last cleanup of Trollmarket, about three weeks prior. Perin didn't like to come down here. Not that he could blame Roy, the place was cold and dark and there was an eerie silence that seemed to fill the place. Mick rolled his shoulders, and tightened his grip on the handle of his broom as he half listened to Anne. She was now just complaining about her and her son's symptoms.

Mick allowed his eyes to roam over the dark dull crystals that erupted from the ground, wondering if they were worth anything.

"I think I'm going to take Ian and myself there too because I'm not feelin' so good and Ian's friend Hallie started feeling sick too after he went over for a playdate." He paused in his observation of the dark shadowed crystals and blinked down at his feet.

Jeez I hope it's not contagious he thought, remembering how pale Roy had been the last time he'd seen him.

"Yeah ok, I hope you guys feel better." Mick said casually, hoping she would get the hint and hang up. His eyes snapped back up to the dark broken crystal in the middle of the town without warning and stared. Anne was still talking, but her voice was dull and distant.

Stop staring at me.

That black crystal loomed silently.

McCormack frowned and started towards it, pausing only when he realized that he couldn't hear Anne anymore.

Mick blinked, tore his gaze away from the crystal and pulled the cell away from his ear, Shaking his head in surprise. How long ago had she hung up?

The clock on the phone read 10:30 a.m.

When did he call Perin? He couldn't remember. The muscles of his back tightened as if against some unseen force, and McCormack found his gaze being pulled back to its spot on the… What had the Palchuk kid called it? Heartstone?

Stop looking at me.

He glared at the useless rock, at its uncut sides all black, cracked and lonely. His neck prickled as a small gust of wind swept through the market and despite the slowly rising Californian heat Mick shivered. He set his shoulders and stomped towards the center of the market, the broom in his hand raised with determined purpose.

Perin wasn't coming and he had a lot to clean up. The sooner he finished the sooner he could leave.

4:00 p.m

He moved the broom, back and forth, back and forth, sweeping the ash and black dust into the heavy metal pan before bending and dumping the contents into the garbage bag. Over and over again he worked. His large vacuum cleaner had gotten clogged early on and so Mick had to make do.

Thump, thump, the bristles of his broom hummed as they scrapped the floor.

Mick bent over again and picked up the pan, His back creaked in protest at the repetitive action, but he ignored it.

From behind him a soft hum seemed to emanate from the Heartstone. His heart leaped into his throat and McCormack whirled around, breathing heavily. Black dust swirled around him. He coughed, not taking his eyes off of that foul pathetic rock.

Stop staring at me.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Mick McCormack gingerly held the broom in front of him as if to hold off the large broken crystal, worrying irrationally that it would move closer to him if he took his eyes from it. Instead the heartstone remained harmlessly in place, as its smooth surface glittered at him. A malevolent black, Mick thought, a foul empty color. Looking at it he could see his reflection, a perfect shadow in the unlit cavern. The shadow stared back.

"Stop staring at me." He snarled out loud, tightening his hold on the broom, suddenly wanting nothing more than to leave. The longer he stared the larger his dark reflection grew.

That sense of being watched grew rather than lessened the longer he stood there.

Stop looking at me.

Against his better judgment, Mick McCormack stepped closer to heartstone.

Someone is stuck in there.

The thought came to him so quickly, He suddenly jerked and took a step backward, shaking his head. He looked up to the surface above him and flinched as he realized how dark it had gotten. He looked back at the dead Heartstone, its shadows were getting very long now.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and Mick rubbed at them with his arm before looking down at his wrist, His watch read 6:30 p.m.

He felt his heart crawl up into his throat. How could have time flown so fast?

The dark was starting to play with his mind, encasing his thoughts until there was nothing else but the blackness. The shadows called to him in a low gentle hum.

Mick McCormack listened, feeling very, very tired.

Oh my creator, favor me now.

The voice that came out of him was not his own.

Mick let the broom scrape against the floor as he stepped towards the heartstone.

Thump.

Thump.

The feeling of being watched had increased in its intensity. And his shadow, dancing in the void, grew larger.

There's someone stuck in there. Mick thought irrationally, shivering as the cold clung to him.

Yes that's it! someone is stuck in there, in the dark, Their cold eyes open and staring at him from the shadows of that dead black crystal.

He paused and stared at the pile of dark, purple dust that he had swept into a circle around him.

When did I?

Someone was stuck in there.

Wind brushed the dust he had swept, up to his nose. Mick inhaled deeply and that humming, that soft music filled his ears.

He panted as he tried to tear his gaze away from the crystal. The dark stretched out towards him viscid and alive.

Someone is in there and they were staring at him and something ought to be done about it.

Mick stretched his palm out to the cool surface of the crystal, his shadow-self reaching back towards him in mimicry.

Crack open the Heartstone! Mick thought wildly. Yes, that was the ticket! open the Heartstone and close those awful eyes. He had a couple of quarters in his pocket, that'll work. Yes that will do just fine. Open the stone open it wide, find their cold green eyes and slip the quarters over them. That'll work.

Inspired Mick dropped the broom and fumbled through his pockets to pull out his small screwdriver.

I'll let you out! He thought triumphantly as his hand wrapped around the handle.

That's insane, what are you thinking?

He wanted to stop but something… that humming… at the back of his mind was urging him to hurry. Sweat dripped down his forehead and streaked down his chest. Mick McCormack raised the screwdriver and stabbed the heartstone with all his might.

I am yours my Eldritch Queen

The words came unbidden to his mind as the heartstone crumbled beneath the force of his blow and the sweet humming filled the air with rapturous power. His senses dulled as black foul dust filled his mouth and lungs, and from the dark, cold green eyes stared back at him.